


Love of Two is One Here

by gildedfantasy



Series: Trouble On My Tongue [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trauma, V is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfantasy/pseuds/gildedfantasy
Summary: Val thought he had encountered everything Night City had to offer after leaving the Bakkers, but unfortunately for him, the city was holding a few aces up its sleeve.A slow-burn fix-it fic for my favourite boys.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/V, Judy Alvarez/Original Female Character, Kerry Eurodyne/V, Kerry Eurodyne/V/Johnny Silverhand
Series: Trouble On My Tongue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156955
Kudos: 19





	1. The End of a Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> A slow-burn fix-it fic for my favourite boys. The mature tag is for later chapters, tags will be updated along with fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02.12 Edit: I might have gotten carried away after spotting some spelling errors, and ended up rewriting a few sections I wasn't happy with. But thank you so much for supporting me!!! So many kudos already (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

Val can count on one hand the number of times he’s been fucked over by someone, and it was with bleary eyes and a gun to his head, that he realizes he would probably have to add to that count soon. DeShawn was saying something—Val could see his lips moving and the ringing in his ears peaked with every syllable out of the man’s mouth—but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck about his little speech. All he can think about is his sister’s chiding tone as she warned him to be careful, right before he fell face first into a hornet's nest. She wouldn’t even get the chance to gloat at him over it. Dexter DeShawn’s bullet made sure of that.

And yet—

_And yet—_

Light trickled in, setting fire to his optics as a wheezy grunt was forced out of him. Val sat awake and aware for the first time in probably… a week? He couldn’t tell exactly, the HUD of his optics shivering like a living thing as his cyberware reset. Each breath _hurt_ , and he could feel the slick slide of fresh blood dripping across his face. Something like pins and needles runs through his legs, and he forces himself to move, leaning up to take in his situation. He could feel his right hand at least, shaking it out to get the blood flowing again as he curses. A sheet of metal pinned his legs, while what looked like the remains of a TV screen crushed his left. Grunting, Val uses his free hand to pull the TV up enough to free his arm, and as a dull throb races through his nerves, he’s suddenly very grateful for the pain tolerance he had built up over the years. Falling down the side of a skyscraper into the cold embrace of a few pipes and some concrete had done a number on him, and he’s sure he’d have been screaming in pain if he hadn’t irreversibly fucked his ability to feel pain. It takes far too long to muster up the energy to free himself, eventually managing to kick the plate loose enough to skitter down the pile. The clatter of metal on metal rang out, and Val stretches, trying to shake the feeling back into his limbs. Nothing seemed broken, in terms of bones or cyberware, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of that full body ache. As he pulls himself up, he jolts as a few error messages flit into view. Val doesn’t recognize the file names, so after a few seconds of looking over them, he dismisses them. Another thing to be fixed as soon as he drags his ass out of this landfill, he supposed. In between the din of the landfill, Val could make out the sounds of the city, and he felt his chest swell in a burst of hope. Closer he was to the city, the closer he was to cleaning himself up. Couldn’t fucking _wait_ to take a shower and then hunt down the bastard that tried to zero him. Slowly, he pulls himself up to stand, vision blurring as he stumbles. Several more errors go off, and he huffs out a grunt as he falls back onto his ass. Looked like he wouldn’t be moving much anytime soon. 

“Fuck’n hell….” He’s about to pull up his diagnostics when he hears shuffling not far from him. Val squints as two figures come into view. Blinking, his mouth drops as the blur of colours clear to reveal Dexter DeShawn hustling his way. His luck was either the worst in the world, or fate decided to offer up his revenge on a platter. The scale seems to tip towards the latter as he spots the person shoving the fixer forward, with a halo of dark curls and a pissed off snarl. As furious as she is, Val can tell she’s observing the man carefully, picking up the obstacles below her without taking her eyes off the man. It had only been a few days since the last time he had seen his sister, but it felt like far too long. He guesses it probably had to do with dying and all that. Not that he particularly wanted to be on the other end of her fury, at the moment. DeShawn is rightly terrified, hands raised as he leads her. He is just barely able to pick up on the tail end of their conversation.

"Like I said, here it is. You wanted the corpo kid’s body, I led you to it. We can split off clean and easy, like any good deal.” The fixer is shaking in his boots, a shiner swelling to gloriously proportions around his left eye, as he flinches away from the gun trained on him. Amaya licks her lips, glancing in his direction. Her eyes falling shut for a moment as she spots his shoes amidst the heap. She’s quiet for a moment, just long enough for DeShawn to get a hopeful look, before she sneers down at him.

“Not a fucking chance, snake.” She hisses, pulling the trigger and watching as his body crashed to the ground, expression frozen in shock. His blood drips into the dust under him, and she finally lets her hand drop, gun held loosely. Her breathing roughens as she takes a shaky step forward, adrenaline draining out of her. Val can only watch as she makes her way towards his feet, crumpling to her knees in front of his would-be grave. Her shoulders start to shake under the force of her sobs, and his heart lurches. Oh, he was such a fucking _gonk._ She thought he was actually gone, and he had been too zoned out watching her to prove her wrong. He had to do something to get her attention, anything. Val musters as much energy as he can as he pulls himself up, fingers reaching out to brush against the only thing he can reach—her hair. His hand is gritty with dirt and blood, but it's all he can think to do. His voice is nothing more than a dry croak as he calls out to her.

“I’m here, Amaya. ‘M okay.” At the gentle touch, she startles, craning her head to meet his gaze. Tears drip steadily down her cheeks, carving a path in the dust smeared across her skin. It shook him to his core, seeing her break down like this. He was so used to seeing her rush headfirst into danger without a care in the world, always stronger than he could ever be. He’s never seen her crack like this. But… No, that was a lie. He had seen this once before, and again, it had been his fault.

“Val? You—you’re here, oh God.” Amaya leans towards him, dragging him out of the pile to rest against her lap, and hurriedly dabs at his forehead with her sleeve. It comes away soaked through, and her hand shakes as more blood drips down his face. She seems out of it, curled around him like she could keep him safe from the world outside, and he hates to see it. Hates that he made her look like that. He weakly grasps at her wrist, stopping her from reaching down with the other sleeve in hand. She looks down at him worriedly, and he shakes his head, trying to tell her to stop, but his voice is lost. Instead, he presses his wrist into her palm, watching as her eyes glow an eerie blue as he passes on Vik’s contact details. And that seems to be all his body can take, as his eyes flutter shut under the pressing darkness, feeling nothing at all.

* * *

Time passes oddly for Val after that, his lucidity melting under the mix of drugs and pain. Flashes of sensation pierce the haze around him as time goes on—a hand brushing his hair back, a whispered prayer, the smell of cigarettes. Eventually, he opens his eyes, the room dark save for a dull pink glow and the quiet murmuring of one of the fights Val always sees Vik watching. He had woken a few times before, briefly enough to sip at the water Vik pressed towards him, but never long enough to talk. Luckily, his body seems to be a bit more willing to listen to him this time around. It's just unfortunate that the longer he stays conscious, the more nausea claws at his throat. Val digs his fingers into the cheap sheets beneath him, fighting against it, bile stinging his tongue. He must make some noise though, as Vik’s stool creaks its way over to him. A bin is held up right as Val loses the fight, spitting up mostly bile. Couldn’t expect much when he hadn’t had something to eat in who knows how long. Groaning, he scrubs his hand roughly against his mouth, curled around the edge of the cot. _What a fucking mess._

“Hey, kid. Deep breaths, it’ll pass.” Vik’s hand rubs slow passes over his shoulder and Val curls into himself further, fighting back a shudder. His body and mind are sluggish, no doubt the fault of whatever chemicals were currently swimming through his blood stream. His tongue feels like cotton, and he grimaces. A sensation he never wanted to get used to again, and Vik should have known that.

“Vik, thought you knew not to dose me. The hell?” The man frowns down at him, his grip on his shoulder tightening. He pushes him back down to lay in the bed before crossing his arms, looking stern.

“Normally I wouldn’t, but when you come in looking like you’re a breath away from death's door, I have to make exceptions. You were out for a while.” Sighing, Vik pinches the bridge of his nose. A moment of silence passes, and he shakes his head, reaching out for the nearby monitor. He flicks through a few screens, the contents a mess of numbers and letters to Val, before stopping with his hand hovering over the screen. A flicker behind him drew Val’s eyes away, and he squinted at the sight of a figure leaning against the wall, the light of the Mikoshi sign making it difficult to focus. All he could see was the lazy curl of smoke. His focus was broken by Vik waving his hand in front of his face, and the man’s frown deepened. “I lost you there for a second, kid. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing. Just zoned out for a sec, Vik.” When Val looks back, the figure is gone. An itch skitters across his spine, and Val shudders. What the fuck was that? Wetting his lips, he brings his hand up to touch gently at his head, vague memories of a sticky warmth pulling at him. “So, how do I look?” 

"Aside from the bullet I dug out of your skull?" Vik clicks his tongue, waving a hand loosely at the monitor in front of him. "You're a mess, kid. And if what I'm seeing here is true, then...." Vik paused, looking away from Val as his expression twitched, and Val felt an uneasiness sweep through him. 

"Then what, Vik? Ain't ever seen you this nervous before." The ripperdoc sighed, leaning over to rest his arms on his knees, refusing to meet his eyes. Val's throat bobs, voice rougher than he's ever heard it before, even after he first got his vocal implants. "Just tell me, can't be worse than all the shit I've been through in the past couple days."

"You, uh, you don't got a lot of time left, kid." The man shrinks under his confused gaze, roughly scrubbing his hand across his chin. "How much do you know about the chip in your head?"

"Not much. Only knew it needed to be in a controlled environment, client clammed up real quick when I asked about it." Val frowns, brushing his fingers against the edge of the chip. "It took a pretty decent dive though. Fuck, how bad is it looking?"

"That's the last thing to worry about right now, V. The chip... it's basically a ticking time bomb." Vik waves his hand again, brows furrowed as he explains. "It's got a personality construct loaded on it, set to overwrite whoever's head it's in. As far as I can tell... you've only got a few weeks left." At this, Vik's shoulders sag, exhaustion clouding his features. Normally, Val would feel bad for him, but normally, Val wasn't dying.

"W—what?" His voice cracks pathetically, and his hands shake as they bunch up the sheets around his hips. Leaning forward, he shakes his head desperately. Fuck, he had taken a bullet to the brain and survived, only to end up on hell’s highway again? “You’re fucking with me, Vik. Can’t we just take it out?”

“It isn’t that easy. The chip’s nanites are the only thing keeping you alive after that shot to the head. Without it, you’d die.”

Val throws his arm across his eyes, ignoring the twinge of pain as he brushes the gauze on his head. “So, I’m fucked if I do and fucked if I don’t?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Vik stands up, kicking the stool to the side as he goes to sort through a pile of stuff on a nearby counter. “I’ll give you some meds to ease through the worst of the symptoms, omega blockers and some pain meds. It should buy you some time.”

“You know I don’t take that shit, Vik. Not a fucking chance. Just…” He sits up with a groan, hand dropping from his forehead to curl around his stomach, a little late in realizing just how much of him was wrapped up. The dull throb of pain along his back and torso was all too happy to remind him. “Let me call up Amaya, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The ripperdoc was quick to drop the brightly coloured bottle in favour of reaching towards him, hands steady against his shoulders. “Cool your jets, kid. She’s with Misty. Take the blockers at least; you don’t have to worry about them. But you gotta promise me to take it easy, V. You go too fast, and you’ll burn yourself out.” 

“I know, I know. Just… send me the bill and I’ll send you the eddies, same account as usual.” Val frowns, trying to remember how much they had saved up. His feet brush against the concrete as he leans forward, and a shiver runs through him. Vik is quick to push a wheelchair towards the bed, Val’s jacket draped over the back. The collar is stained through with blood, though he can still make out the outline of ripped stitches where his Bakkers patch used to be. Couldn’t run away from it, no matter how much blood he shed. Shaking his head, he brushed aside all thoughts of his ex-clan and his diagnosis to focus on getting back home. With the ripperdoc’s careful hand, he settles easily into the chair, and points towards the elevator nearby. “Think I can manage from here. Should get some sleep, Vik. You look like shit.”

The man scoffs, moving to start cleaning up as he waves him away. “Get outta here before I regret letting you leave.” Val snorts, pushing his way out of the clinic, not looking forward to the inevitable scolding he was going to get from his sister.


	2. You're Out of Place and Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val is forced to come to terms with his own morality and the consequences of a job gone wrong. What a great time for Johnny to make his debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe it's been a month since starting this, but adult life will do that to you. Uni assignments have been mugging me in a back alley, and I've been stuck rewriting chapter two over and over as my brain melts. Hopefully this is readable. I will forever struggle with tenses and making dialogue seem natural.
> 
> Did I also succumb and make a playlist? Guilty. (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0KoT5YERBfVAKIwkk7pJxy?si=rcBawF5JTrObgS_xe-X6AQ)

The calming blend of lavender and incense drifts through the air as Val makes his way into the main room of the shop, stopping as he spots Misty leaning against the counter. Her hands are occupied by a set of cards, shuffling them idly with a small smile on her face. Across the counter, Amaya is a stark contrast of Misty’s calm as she picks at her hands. The dark curls of her hair are messily pulled into a bun, and her expression is pinched as she stares at the counter, where he can see a few cards sitting in front of her. She goes to speak as she looks up but stops quickly as she spots Val. The unnerving red of her optics all the worse as she stares at him, gaze unreadable, before turning on her heel, leaving the shop with quick steps. He’s left to watch her leave, mind floundering at the odd situation. Was she really _that_ pissed at him, that she’d leave without a word? As he sits in stunned silence, Misty turns to face him, placing the rest of the deck on the counter. She smiles sadly at him, hands clasped loosely in front of her.

“Don’t take it too hard, V. We’ve all been through a lot recently, and we’re trying to realign ourselves. She’s just waiting outside for you.” She reaches to grab two fist-sized bottles, one a striking orange, the other a deep blue. Misty comes to crouch in front of him, offering up the bottles. “I thought you wouldn’t listen to Vik, but maybe you’ll listen to me? No chance of you getting stuck on these, they’re only to help with your situation.”

“Help me how? Vik said its terminal, so unless they can kill the chip, I don’t see the point,” He mutters, a bitter tang in his throat. He winces as a pulse of _something_ hits him, vision glitching for a few painful moments. 

Misty continues talking, unaware. Shaking the blue bottle, pills rattling quietly, she explains: “These are omega-blockers, the ones Vik recommended. They’ll slow the progression of the chip, keep your guest quiet and calm.” Putting it in his lap, she raises the other one, lips pursing. “These are pseudoendotrizine, which will have the opposite effect. They’ll speed things up, let the demon take control, so to speak. I wanted to give you a choice, when worse comes to worse.”

Val takes the other bottle, staring down at it with furrowed brows. His mouth feels dry as he processes the words. A few moments go by before he looks back up at Misty. “Why would I want that sort of choice? Giving me the option to give up faster?” 

“Listen, you’re likely to be fine for a while. But sometime down the road, it could turn into pure agony. I’m giving you options, honey.” She rests her hand on his knee, patting it softly. Val found it hard to stay angry at her. He knew that she was just trying to help, even if the scared little part of his mind wanted to lash out at everything around him for the unjust situation. She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a thin metal chain, and sets it into his hand. Looking down, he tilts his head at the odd trinket: A circular pendant with a single bullet attached to it. Val raises his hand up to peer closer at the bullet, humming. It was a low caliber, clearly having been fired by the lack of casing and the damage to the tip. “Vik pulled this out of your skull — a lucky charm?”

Val lets out a snort, rubbing his finger along the bullet. The gesture was a bit morbid, but he honestly enjoyed the irony. He gives Misty a small smile, holding the bottles loosely on his lap as she stands up. “Let’s hope it works. Unsure if I can break out of hell a second time.” Misty laughs as she circles around him, taking control of the wheelchair to help him follow his sister. As they approach the door, Val reaches behind him blindly, patting at her hand. “Thank you for the help, Misty. And… I’m so fucking sorry Jack’s not here anymore. I tried to keep him awake but…”

He hears a sharp little inhale from behind him, and their pace stutters. Misty’s voice sounds a little more wet as she says, “I’m sure you did everything you could, V. I don’t blame you. The fact that you made it out alive at all is a miracle.”

The door slides open, bringing the din of Little China with it, and Val squints at the sudden light. Amaya’s Rattler is parked outside, barely on the curb of the sidewalk, much to the ire of the pedestrians. She’s fiddling with the radio, not glancing up as the door to the car creaks open. Misty reaches towards him, and he waves her off, determined to get in by himself. Teeth clenched, he pushes himself up to shift over to the passenger seat, arms shaking as his muscles protest the abuse. Wasn’t near as painful as moving around after the fall at Arasaka, but he should probably avoid putting too much strain on his body for a few more days. Giving Misty a smile as she puts the chair in the car, he says his goodbyes before closing the car door.

Amaya pulls the car onto the road, frowning as a few people flip her off as they walk in front of her. She still hasn’t bothered to look over at him, and he sighs. She stays quiet as they drive home, wearing his nerves thin at the silent treatment. Val had expected her to start ranting at him as soon as they had been alone, what with the white-knuckled grip she has on the steering wheel and the serious look on her face. His sister had never been one to hold back from voicing her opinion, something she did plenty whenever he pulled some stupid stunt. He’d looked up to her for that when he was younger, the way she had always slipped into action rather than cower away from the hand life dealt them. His choice to leave their clan had been inspired by her, hoping to chase his own dreams for once instead of hiding in the shadows of his clan. He almost wished she would yell at him, bring some normalcy to the situation instead of leaving him to stew in his own thoughts. But eventually his exhaustion wins out, dragging him into a slouch against the worn leather of the seat. The shift in position makes him wince, but eventually the warm numbness of the morphine masks it once again. He was alive, that much was obvious, but now he had to figure out how to keep it that way. Couldn’t remove the chip with its nanites keeping his brain together, couldn’t just let the construct eat away at his psyche. But without any real leads, all they could do now was wait until he was better to find a way.

Val reaches up to graze his fingers over the thick line of gauze wrapped around his hairline, feeling a thin crust of blood stuck to his scalp. A grimace spreads over his features at the grit, rubbing his fingers together at the flakes of crimson. A shower would have to come before he could sleep, no point getting his bed covered in God knows what. He jerks forward as a shadow washes over the car, bathing them in darkness. A quick glance at the driver’s side shows his sister leaving the vehicle, and he peers out of the car. The modest exterior of their tiny home greeted him; The garage doors ahead were closed as the Rattler rarely ever parked inside. As he goes to exit the Rattler, he’s stopped by his sister with the wheelchair. For the first time since the shop, she meets his gaze and shakes her head. 

“Get in the chair, I’m not having you pop a stitch by being stubborn.” Her voice is hoarser than normal, a tired rasp to match the circles under her eyes. Her hands gently pull him into the chair, easing the strain, and he smiles weakly at her.

“I’ll try not to bleed on the furniture,” He jokes, leaning back into the chair to look up at her. She snorts a laugh, leading him to the front door, which she unlocks with a press of her wrist. The foyer inside is cluttered, shoes laying haphazardly near the door. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get the chair in and around the mess, before the room opens up into the joint kitchen-living room.

The space is well-lived in, brimming with warmth and evidence of the life they’ve managed to carve out in the city. It looked exactly as it was before he left for the heist, and guilt surges through him as he realizes Amaya probably hadn’t been home much since then. A deck of playing cards lay scattered along the table, along with a few empty glasses and dirty plates, remnants of their last free day together. The couches are covered in an assortment of blankets, and a few of Val's sweatshirts, the ones his sister tended to steal. The wall has a few photos set up, mostly of their time in the Bakker clan, though there is a recent one of Val, Jackie, and Misty at _El Coyote Cojo_. He's quick to turn his gaze elsewhere. His sister pushes him towards the couch, before flopping down into it with a tired grunt. Val raises a questioning brow, leaning to rest his head on his hand. His sister glances up at him, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“We have to talk. And I know you’re gonna start arguing with me as soon as I start talking, so just — stay quiet and listen to my proposal first.” She waves her hand at a tablet, the screen flickering to life at the motion, and he spots a map of southern California on it, red scratches decorating it. A feeling of dread sinks deep in his stomach at the sight of it. “You might have gotten lucky this time, but I’m not going to risk there being a second. I know you like the city, but we need to play it safe from now on. Take some time away to let the heat cool off.”

He blinks at her for a long moment, mouth opening and closing several times as he processes. She raises an eyebrow, and he realizes she's _serious._ “Wait, you want to leave Night City? And go where?” He throws out his hands, gesturing at the house around them, at their _home._ “There’s nowhere else to go, Ama.”

“There’s plenty of places to go. Just because we’ve only ever seen Night City and the Badlands, doesn’t mean we don’t have options,” She states, swiping through the map, and he is able to make out a few paths, leading east. “We could even probably travel with some nomads for a while, to keep out of the corpo radar.”

“I’ve dealt with Arasaka before, Ama,” He says, irritated at the idea of just leaving. “I’m not letting them chase us out, not after all we’ve done to make this our home.”

“This isn’t like before, Val!” She shouts, slamming her hands down onto the table hard enough to send a few cards flying. Shaking her head, her shoulders tense as her anger finally reaches its boiling point. “We can’t just sweep this under the rug like before! Everyone out there thinks _you_ are the one who killed Saburo, and it's only so long until they realize you aren’t dead.”

“S’not any different from any other day! Every single time I take a job or even just fucking walk around Night City, my life’s at risk. A little heat from a company I know inside and out isn’t going to do shit!” He shouts back, exasperated.

“You don’t get it, do you?” She sighs, slumping back down, her hands rubbing at her face. “The _difference_ is that you are going to drag everyone else into this. How many people have to die for you to realize that?”

At that, he flinches back, eyes wide in disbelief. To say something like that so casually, like it wasn’t something Val had regretted since he had woken up. Out of everyone, he hadn’t expected his sister to be the one to use the job against him. And as soon as those words register, her eyes widen, a flash of regret passing over her face. She reaches out towards him, but he shakes his head, turning away from her to wheel away as quick as his aching body could take him. She calls after him, but he doesn’t really register it over the ringing in his ears. His bedroom door clicks shut behind him, locking with a quick glance. He makes his way to the bed, tossing the pills and necklace to the floor with a clatter. As he collapses onto his bed, he lets his exhaustion finally pull him under, determined to ignore the world, at least for a few hours.

* * *

A crack of thunder peels through his half-lit room, jerking Val onto his elbows as he instinctively reaches to the bedside shelf. A half bitten-off wheeze leaks out as the bandages around his chest tighten from the shift in position, and he rolls off his stomach, sweaty fingers tightening on _Dying Night_. His head felt like it was packed with cotton, tongue a dead weight in his mouth. Couldn’t tell if it was the come-down of the morphine or the need for water, but it was one of the worst ways to wake. The heavy patter of rain against the window was all he could pick out, and he rolled his eyes, cursing the shit weather for waking him. As he sets the gun down, he rolls onto his back, shielding his eyes from the city lights outside. A cursory glance at the time shows it was still the middle of the night, so getting up was out of the question, unless he wanted Amaya to kick his ass. His eyes flutter shut once more, shifting in an attempt to lessen the tug of the bandages, but stops as he feels the bed dip near his hip.

“The fu—” He sputters, cut off as the bed dips further, fingers wrapping tight around his throat. His eyes fly open, tensing under the grip as he tries to push against it. Straddling his hips, a man — who definitely hadn’t been there before — snarls down at him, tightening his grip as Val fights against it. Long dark hair hangs around the man’s face, dirt and blood smeared across his face and arms, one of which glimmered dimly in the neon lights. Val cursed at the sight of the chrome, switching gear to grip the arms firmly, bringing his knee into the man’s gut. Except he never made contact, blinking as the man disappeared just as quick. Nausea hits him like a punch to the gut, vision swimming. Several moments pass in relative silence before he hears a thud, followed by another, and another. Lifting his head, he spots the man once more — this time leaning against the wall next to his bed, expression stiff as he slowly smacks his head back against the wall. 

“The fuck kinda joytoy are you s’posed to be?” He grumbles, flicking his eyes over Val’s rumpled form. Val just stares at him for a long moment, confused at the shift in attitude. The insult was weak, compared to the rage moments before. With the distance between them, he could pick out the weathered ballistic vest, at odds with the leather pants and aviators perched on the man’s battered face. As he takes in the situation, his muddled mind finally catches up. The man’s appearance and attitude fit with all the whispered stories he had heard in his time at Arasaka, of the crazed terrorist that had taken down the headquarters decades ago. This was Johnny fucking Silverhand, the resident of the busted biochip he had risked everything to get. The tension in his body leaks out as he slumps, pinching his nose in irritation. All that death and chaos, just for a single personality construct. Helplessly, he starts to laugh, shoulders shaking roughly. He doesn’t look up as the man leans over him once more, expression thunderous. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“All that work, just for you? What was the goddamn point?” He snorts, lifting his hand to glare up at the engram. Waving his hand at the man, Val forces himself up, wobbling under his own weight. “Now I can’t even get rid of you, a multi-million eddie malware. Fuck.”

Silverhand mutters under his breath, reaching forward to fist a hand in his bandages, pulling him close. Now that he was focused on the engram, Val could make out the flimsy edges of the man’s existence. His touch was a fuzzy warmth, not quite like skin on skin, but rather the memory of it. Even as he tossed Val around, his grip on the bandages didn’t shift or tighten them at all. His chest rose and fell, but he couldn’t feel anything as the man exhaled, even when standing face to face with the man. He’s shaken out of his daze as Silverhand throws him to the ground, sprawled out as he clutches at his ribs. He’s about to curse the man out, but is interrupted as the engram stands over him, fist raised in a threat. 

“Who you work for? Start talking!” As Silverhand points at him, his own arm raises unbidden, in a reflection of the movement. They both watch, unsettled as they mirror each other, hands shifting under their inspection. Silverhand’s lip lifts in a snarl as he reaches back, Val’s fingers brushing against the port behind his right ear. “Fucking chip….” Val feels his fingernails catch on the edge of the chip, and panic bubbles in his throat. “Rip the thing out myself!”

“Shit, don’t!” Val yelps, barely able to wrench his own hand away from his head as his vision flickers once more, teeth gritting under the pain. Rolling over, he clutches at his head, fingers scrabbling at the edges of the gauze. Feels like his head was cracking open, unable to contain the two of them. Something rattles against his arm as he shakes, and he cracks open an eye to see the bottles he had thrown earlier. He would have to hope Vik was right about the blockers, cause he wasn’t sure how long he would last with Silverhand in his head otherwise. “Course I get stuck with a psycho, my fucking luck.”

But when he reaches towards the bottle, the engram reappears to kick the bottle away, crouching down to sneer in his face. “A bullet to the brain, asshole. Only way to end this!”

Val lets his head drop to the ground, a thunk ringing out as wheezes out a groan. Of course the engram would make this difficult, couldn’t just shut up and quietly disappear. He can hear Silverhand mumbling to himself as he wanders off deeper into the room, and Val struggles his way over to the spilled bottle, desperately fumbling for one of the stray pills. In his hurry, he accidentally bites down into the pill, grimacing at the bitter taste of the medicine. And as he rolls onto his back, he can see the engram’s form shake before flickering away once more. The room goes deathly silent, the gentle pattering of the rain free to fill the space once more, and Val settles further into his position on the floor, willing his heart back to a healthy pace. If the engram didn’t flatline him, the stress sure would.


End file.
